


TF2 Secret Santa 2018

by ChillsofFire



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Christmas Family Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 13:11:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17142368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChillsofFire/pseuds/ChillsofFire
Summary: Secret Santa gift for marveloustf2 on Tumblr! I fell in love with her request for a Mundy Family Christmas. Hope you enjoy, Merry Swissmas!





	TF2 Secret Santa 2018

The porch creaked under them. Sniper shifted, steadying his feet as his arms tightened their hold. A wooden squeak responded to the movement, but it went ignored. There were more important things to be focusing on than the complaints of old and worn floorboards.

Sniper set his chin down gently among soft, gray curls, letting his smile grow and inhaling the familiar scent of _home_.

Almost two years had passed since he’d last been here. It had been hard last year, making the call to inform his parents that he wouldn’t be coming. There had been sad acceptance in everyone’s voice as Sniper had hunched over the payphone, one arm braced against cold metal as his hand covered his forehead. His parents had understood, mostly, but that hadn’t chased away the empty feeling in Sniper’s gut when he’d woken up in his truck on Christmas, shivering from the chill of an American winter.  Last year had been rough.

But this year…this year had almost been harder.

The phone call had seemed impossible; the receiver too heavy in his hand, the buttons too hard to press. But he’d dialed the familiar number, and the excited hope in his mother’s voice had made his chest feel tight.

“Yeah, mum, about Christmas…”

The disappointment had been tangible. Sniper hadn’t even tried to offer the excuses from before. He’d only apologized, and tried to stop himself from making promises for ‘next year’. Of course his parents had brushed it off, told him they understood, that work made things complicated. But the hurt in his mother’s voice had nearly killed him.

So when the letters from the Administrator showed up, almost too late on Christmas Eve, clearing the mercs for the holidays, Sniper hadn’t wasted a second. Half the team hadn’t even opened their official dismissals before he was out the door, keys to the truck in hand.

He’d broken every speed limit on his way to the airport. Slapped down a pile of cash while breathlessly demanding the next flight to Australia. Rented the first vehicle he saw and raced it out of the city as fast as he could. The idea of stopping at a phone had never crossed his mind. He’d wanted to be home. He hadn’t wanted his voice to be filtered through metal and wires when he said

"Merry Christmas, mum."

The arms around him squeezed. A small sniffling sound was muffled against his shoulder.

"You said you weren't goin’ to make it..." Mrs. Mundy pulled away from her son, reaching up with one hand to brush the moisture from her eyes. Her smile was brighter than the sun above them, and Sniper's grew even broader in return.

"I got the time off after all." Sniper drew his hands back to rest on his mother's arms, "Didn't have a lotta time to call. Soon as I found out I ran to the airport."

"You've always had a habit of surprisin’ us."

Sniper looked up, over his mother's head, and into the house. His father, patient and calm, was watching them, his arms crossed loosely over his chest and a smile on his face.

"Gotta keep you on your toes." Sniper followed his mother's silent directions, stepping through the door as she moved to one side and waved her arm toward the living room. He plucked his hat from his head automatically.

"Is that what ya call it?" Jonathan Mundy moved forward to meet his son, arms dropping so he could give Sniper a proper hello. A firm handshake turned quickly into a warm hug. “It’s good to see ya, son.”

“You too, dad.” Sniper closed his eyes. He’d missed this. And from the way his father was holding him, he wasn’t the only one who had.

“So,” he pulled away, pretending not to notice the extra moisture in his father’s eyes, “what needs to be done?”

His father laughed, clapping him on the shoulder as his mother came up beside them, shaking her head with fond exasperation.

“Not a thing, dear. Don’t worry yourself, you just sit. Have a drink, yer father just finished a batch!” She turned away, ignoring the way Sniper attempted to follow her.

“Mum, I can-“

“Son,” Sniper faced his father again. Jonathan squeezed his shoulder, “don’t argue with yer mum.” He chuckled lightly as he stepped back, reaching for a jar of pink liquid and handing it to Sniper, smile still fixed firmly in place, “Welcome home.”

Sniper accepted the jar, glanced over his shoulder to the kitchen his mother had disappeared in, then shook his head with a small grin, “Good to be back.”

 

The moonshine tasted like quandongs. Sniper relished the taste, the sweetness that didn’t quite hide the burn of the drink itself. He and his father had tried to infuse the fruit with the moonshine as a joke, back when he was 14. A few extra pieces, unneeded for his mother’s pie, had been squeezed of their juices and mixed into the brewing batch. That first year, it hadn’t tasted any different. But the color had been fascinating, and it had fit the festive Christmas season. So they’d all sipped their not-so-quandong-flavored moonshine and ate their dinner on the porch so they would watch the sky change color as day turned to night. The year after, Mrs. Mundy had recalled the pleasant memory, and Jonathan, eyeing the overflowing bucket of fruit, had asked Sniper if he wanted to give it another go.

It became a yearly tradition.

Sniper took another swig from his jar, grinning around the rim as he watched his father grumble over his side of the board.

Christmas at the Mundy house had always been a humble affair. Chores were finished early in the morning so that the day could be spent without worry. Presents were opened after, and the three of them would sit together tinkering with their gifts or playing games until Mrs. Mundy decided it was time to start preparing dinner. She would all but tether herself to the kitchen, and the boys would steer clear of her territory until they were invited in. God have mercy on any who dared to sneak a bite before the meal was ready.

When he was younger, Sniper and his father would find themselves outside during the Great Cooking Time. Sometimes they would hike along the country side, trying to hunt down a lizard or snake or strange bug. As Sniper got older, the extra time was spent practicing his shooting or his archery.

The most recent years had seen them remaining inside, away from the sun, enjoying a few hours of conversation and games. Sniper had explored their property more times than he could count; there was not a stone left untouched, not a single blade of grass that remained unknown to him. And his father was growing older. Tromping around the fields for fun was growing less and less appealing to him.

They’d turned their attention elsewhere.

This year, it was on chess. Chess, and light conversations about Sniper’s travels that oh so carefully avoided his job, because arguing about his career was the last thing either of them wanted to do right then.

Jonathan moved one of his knights.

Sniper flicked his eyes over the board.

“Bloody hell…” Jonathan slumped back a bit, watching as his piece was claimed by Sniper’s bishop, “Didn’t even see that!” He picked up his own drink, then leaned forward again, “You’ve gotten damn good.”

“Lotta practice. Couple of me…uh…” Sniper hesitated, not entirely sure how to refer to the other mercs.

“Coworkers?” Jonathan supplied, one eyebrow quirking just slightly. His eyes moved from Sniper to the board again.

“Yeah,” Sniper cleared his throat, “coworkers. We play sometimes.”

“Mhm.” Jonathan took a drink. His fingers tapped over his jar, his eyes shifting over the board as he tried to form a plan. A small smile pulled at his lips, “It shows.” He looked up at Sniper again, “How long ‘til ya win?”

Sniper glanced over their pieces again, “Three or six moves, dependin’ on you.”

Jonathan snorted lightly, “I could still win.”

“Course you could.” Sniper grinned, “It’ll take a lot longer.”

“Gah!” Jonathan laughed and shook his head, “Course it will.” He looked past Sniper, raising his voice bit, “Love, how long ‘til dinner?”

From the kitchen came the sounds of shifting pots, the squeak of a well-used oven door cracking open. Sniper inhaled slowly, his eyes falling half shut as the scent of roasting meat filled the air. There were a few more clangs, and the sound of something being set down on the loose coils of the stove.

Mrs. Mundy appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. Her forehead was damp with sweat, her cheeks flushed with heat. Cooking in Australia’s unforgiving summer was bordering on insane. But Mrs. Mundy could never be talked out of it. She liked her kitchen and her cooking. Sniper and Jonathan had stopped trying to convince her to use the grill out back. She was an opinionated woman; she would tell them if and when she got tired of roasting herself along with their dinner.

“Not long now,” She smiled, “the meat just needs to rest.”

“Well then,” Jonathan looked back at his son, “have mercy on yer old man. Call it a draw?”

Sniper laughed, “Sure.”

“Atta boy.” Jonathan picked up the board, folding it carefully so the pieces fell toward the center. They and the board were deposited back in their box. Jonathan looked toward the door, nodding his head at the case Sniper had left there, “That yer gun?”

“Nah,” Sniper shifted over on the couch, “It’s me sax.”

“Oh, you brought it!” Mrs. Mundy came over to sit beside her son, “How wonderful! I haven’t heard you play in ages!”

“I’ll play somethin’ tonight then.” Sniper smiled.

“Why not now? We have time!”

“I like the sound of that.” Jonathan set his moonshine down, “A live Christmas performance before dinner.”

“Hm, I think I can play a song or two,” Sniper moved to stand up.

“Ah ah, sit, I’m closer.”

“Dad, no, let me-“

Jonathan waved his hand, “I’m old, not dead. My legs work just fine.”

There was no arguing with him. Sniper resettled, smiling at his mother and carefully accepting the case from his father when it was handed over. He cracked it open, immediately grabbing his reed and placing it between his lips so he could wet it down.

“Any requests?” He asked around it, fingers playing over a few keys to ensure nothing was stiff or sticking.

“Anything.” Mrs. Mundy sat back, hands clasped over her lap.

Sniper chuckled, thinking over the songs he knew. He slipped his reed into place and closed his eyes.  

Jonathan relaxed back in his chair, one finger tapping against the arm of his chair, a relaxed smile on his face as he watched his son play.

Mrs. Mundy swayed slightly with the music, humming along gently.

Sniper inhaled through his nose, not missing a beat, and had to stop himself from smiling wider around his mouthpiece. Under the mouthwatering scent that was the roast and vegetables, another heavenly aroma was starting to rise.

Moonshine with his father, his mother’s familiar cooking, and a homemade quandong pie in the oven. Bloody hell had he missed all this last year.

His left toe tapped to keep time, and Sniper played on. One song, just one.  

Beside him, his mother’s humming gave way to quiet singing as Sniper moved into a new verse.

“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas…”


End file.
